


Shall we dance?

by Samara Lilly (Amber_Rose)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Drunk Dancing, First Kiss, Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 02:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21047684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Rose/pseuds/Samara%20Lilly
Summary: “Do you dance?”Crowley snorts. “Who do you think invented the famous Studio 54 in New York? Of course I do.”Aziraphale pulls a face. “That’s not dancing. That’s… moving around.”“You think I can’t dance?” Crowley sits up straight now and eyes the angel over the rim of his dark glasses.“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Aziraphale tries to make a neutral face. But he finds the idea of Crowley dancing very, very… interesting.With beautiful fanart!





	Shall we dance?

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a prequel for "Make me feel loved": 
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/19789465
> 
> Someone in my German fan fiction forum suggested I should write it. So there you go!
> 
> UPDATE! 
> 
> Now with art:  
https://www.tumblr.com/blog/samara-lilly
> 
> by the so, so talented https://lonicera-caprifolium.tumblr.com

“You are the worst demon ever,” chuckles Aziraphale and gets up to search for another bottle of this fabulous whiskey he had hidden for special occasions.  
“Was that a compliment?”, slurs Crowley. He is sprawled over Aziraphale’s old sofa in the back room of his book shop. He looks a little like a caricature of himself. His flaming red hair is messed through whatever had happened. He has an empty tumbler in his left hand, dangling over the armrest of the sofa. His head rests against the backrest, and his legs are splayed so wide, that it is a real indecency. 

Except… Aziraphale rather likes, what he sees: Crowley is lean and sinewy, all sharp angles and edges, long limbs and graceful as a panther. The splayed thighs make Aziraphale swallow hard and send a prayer up, although he knows he won’t be heard anyway.  
“A compliment? No, don’t think so. Is it good for a demon to be bad? Or was it the other way round?” Aziraphale wobbles a little on his legs and thinks very hard. There is a little crease of concentration between his eyebrows which makes him look even more endearing to Crowley. 

Wait - endearing? - the demon thinks and tries to dismiss the thought as quickly as possible. He knows he has a very unhealthy crush on Aziraphale. Even much more than that, if he is totally honest with himself. Which he is right now, drunk as he is. There is no denying that the principality Aziraphale, guardian of the eastern gate of Eden, is the loviest angel one could ask for. Right now this lovely angel walks a little unsteadily into a corner of his shop where a small wooden cabinet is crammed between the book shelves. When he bends over to open the door, he presents his nice butt to Crowley, and the demon has to look away. He’s in big trouble, if he stares at Aziraphale’s nice butt for too long. 

“Ha! Knew there had to be another one.” Aziraphale straightens and turns, another bottle of whiskey in hand. It’s the second. Or third? It doesn’t matter to either of them. With a little grin on his face Aziraphale walks back to Crowley.  
“Here, open this, will you?” He presses the bottle directly into Crowleys chest. The demon automatically takes it. He straightens a little, balances his empty tumbler on his thigh and unscrews the bottle.  
“Where’s your glass?”  
Aziraphale looks around. “I… can’t remember. But it must be here somewhere.”  
“Some day you will forget your own head.” Crowley snaps his fingers and miracles a tumbler into Aziraphale’s hand. The angels beams at him.  
“Oh thank you, dear boy.”  
“You’re welcome, I think,” Crowley growls and pours them both two fingers of whiskey, before he puts the bottle down beside the sofa.  
“Cheers, angel.” He lifts his glass into Aziraphale’s direction. They both take a sip. The warm feeling of the whiskey slowly making it's way down their throats is still pleasant. They are both drunk, but not too drunk. It feels nicer than it should. 

Aziraphale sighs and flops back down onto his chair. “I missed this, you know.”  
“Hm?” Crowley lifts his eyebrows.  
“This. Us.”  
“You’re making no sense, angel.”  
“That’s why I learned to dance.”  
“You did wot?” Crowley asks with the same shocked expression he had shown 6.000 years ago on the great wall surrounding the garden of Eden.  
“Well, I had to occupy myself, while you took your very long nap throughout nearly a century. So I joined this gentleman’s club and learned the gavotte. It was fun.”  
The expression on Crowley’s face changes, and he starts to laugh. “Of all the dances in the world you had to learn the gavotte? Why not the waltz or something like that?”  
Aziraphale takes a bigger swig of his whiskey. “Because I wanted to. Just like I said: it was fun. Who are you to judge? Do you dance?”

Crowley snorts. “Who do you think invented the famous Studio 54 in New York? Of course I do.”  
Aziraphale pulls a face. “That’s not dancing. That’s… moving around.”  
“You think I can’t dance?” Crowley sits up straight now and eyes the angel over the rim of his dark glasses.  
“Doesn’t matter what I think,” Aziraphale tries to make a neutral face. But he finds the idea of Crowley dancing very, very… interesting. 

“Oh no, angel. You do not offend me and then try to pretend you didn’t. Get up.” Crowley knocks back the rest of his whiskey and puts the empty tumbler onto a book shelf. Aziraphale shoots him a disapproving look. He doesn’t like it, when Crowley does that.  
“What for?”  
“I’m gonna show you I can dance. Up you get, up, up!” Crowley gestures with his hands to urge Aziraphale to stand.  
“We can’t dance the gavotte here. Not enough room.”  
“Who said anything about the gavotte?” Crowley puts his hands on his hips, impatiently tapping his foot.  
“Well I thought…” Aziraphale has trouble to sort his thoughts. Oh, he is pretty drunk already.  
“I don’t know how to do the gavotte, and I don’t want to. I’ll show you a proper dance,” Crowley snarls.

There is a moment of stunned silence. “You… you want to dance… with me?”  
“Is there anybody else around? Of course! But I lead!”  
Aziraphale gets up, looking a little insecure. Crowley doesn’t hesitate. A snap of his fingers miracles an old record onto Aziraphale’s old fashioned gramophone. He comes closer and takes Aziraphale’s hands, while the first notes of the music start.  
“So. Waltz. This is a dance where you have to hold your partner close,” he explains.  
“As if I didn’t know that!” protests the angel, but lets himself be manhandled into the right dancing position.  
“Just sayin’. Follow my lead, yeah? You start with your right foot. Make a small step forward…” 

Crowley starts to explain and show the steps of the dance. Aziraphale stares down at their feet. It feels strange. They are so close, he can practically feel the heat radiating off Crowley’s body. He feels clumsy, and the whiskey circulating in his bloodstream adds to a certain dizziness, caused by the motions and the very close proximity of Crowley. 

“Stop looking at your feet, look at me!” commands Crowley. Aziraphale startles, trips, and they both nearly topple over.  
Aziraphale bursts into laughter. “I can’t, Crowley! This is why angels don’t dance!”  
“Bullshit. You are already dancing. And you learned the bloody gavotte,” Crowley answers, grinning like a madman himself. His glasses start to slowly slide down the bridge of his nose, which is an advantage. Because now Aziraphale, doing as instructed, looks into Crowley’s eyes. These magnificent golden eyes that seem to see right into his soul. Aziraphale feels hot. Not only because of the dancing. He is still laughing, while Crowley spins them both in a small circle.  
“See? Not that hard, is it?” Crowley asks. He’s is smiling widely now.  
“Stop that! Please, Anthony, I need a break!” 

Crowley stops. Aziraphale calling him Anthony hits him right in the gut. There is something fluttering inside him. He looks at him, eyes wide, but Aziraphale doesn’t notice. He is gasping for breath, his face a little flushed, still laughing.  
“Oh, that was fun. But I need to get my breath back,” Aziraphale says. He gently squeezes Crowleys arm, and Crowley has to let go. Aziraphale flops down on the sofa, and Crowley follows after a heartbeat. The waltz is still playing in the background.  
“You don’t even have to breathe. You’re an angel,” he says, smiling.  
“May have gone more native than I thought. Besides, you breathe, too.”  
“Hm… yeah… used to it by now. Can be fun, though.”  
“What?”

Crowley stretches his impossibly long legs. “Scaring people when stopping to. Breathe, I mean.”  
“You are impossible.”  
“I once went to a doctor. Did I ever tell?”  
“Oh, were you sick?” There is immediate concern on Aziraphale’s lovely face. Lovely? Stop!  
“Don’t be silly. Course I wasn’t. Had my eyes on him for a while. Wanted to teach him a lesson. He was too sloppy with his patients. Nearly missed a case of pneumonia in a kid. Little fellow was only four years old. Just wanted him to pay more attention to what he was doing.” Crowley starts to chuckle.  
“You should have seen his face when he put his stethoscope onto my chest and heard - nothing!”  
“Did you even stop your heartbeat?”  
“Yeah. I was mean, was I? He nearly fainted.”  
“Oh you cruel, cruel demon. What happened?”  
“He started to panic, searched for another stethoscope. Listened again. Again: nothing. While I was sitting there, pretending to breathe. His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets.” Crowley laughs now.  
“I asked him with my most innocent tone: Is it bad, doctor? He looked at me like a deer in the headlight, pale as a sheet. Said, he wasn’t sure, shook his head and started again to search for something to hear. That’s when I started my heart again and took a real breath. Oh the relief on his face! But he never ever missed any sickness as long as he worked. So - success.” 

Aziraphale doesn’t mention that Crowley had - unconsciously - done a very good thing. He had saved lives. The warm feeling inside his own chest expands even more. Crowley is indeed a very incompetent demon. But that’s what he loves about him. Oh oh… love? Such a big word! Aziraphale shoves the thought away as best as he can. He is too drunk to cope with his unrequited love for the demon now…

“You must have scared him to death!”  
“Of course I did! That was what it was about! Have you never done something silly? Apart from learning the fucking gavotte?”  
“Don’t say that!” Aziraphale punches Crowley’s arm.  
“Hey, you’re not supposed to punch me! You’re an angel!”  
“Doesn’t mean I can’t teach you some manners,” Aziraphale retorts and does it again.  
“You really are a bad angel, angel!”

They both burst into laughter and can’t seem to stop themselves. Maybe it finally is the relief to still be here after they had saved the world, maybe just pure joy to be together again. Aziraphale had been discorporated, after all. But here he is, and here is Crowley, and - how did it come they are now embracing each other? Aziraphale is wheezing. He can’t remember if he has ever laughed like that. But it feels amazing. Crowley feels amazing, and that’s when the realization hits him. He stops laughing, retreats a little and looks at Crowley. 

Crowley sees Aziraphale’s expression change, the laughter subsides and suddenly it’s very silent. They stare at each other, both breathing rapidly. Crowley slowly lifts a hand, places it onto Aziraphale’s cheek and leans forward. Oh how he longs to do this! It would be so easy to kiss him now! Aziraphale looks beautiful like this: smiling, cheeks flushed, eyes sparkling. But suddenly his courage drains out of him like water out of a broken mug. 

Aziraphale sees how a hint of fear ghosts over Crowley’s features. Oh no… they are so close already! This feels so good, so right, and yet dangerous, but… Before Crowley can retreat, Aziraphale acts. He leans forward and brushes his lips over Crowley’s. Their minds go blank. It’s just a very chaste kiss, only lasts three seconds. But these three seconds feel like an eternity. When Aziraphale leans back, Crowley stares at him. He blinks rapidly, then whispers: “Angel?”

“Was that - was that a mistake?” Aziraphale asks back. His voice is trembling and he is suddenly sure that he has made a big mistake.  
“Again,” demands Crowley. He’s breathless. He can still feel Aziraphale’s lips on his. He can’t believe Aziraphale really did this. He needs proof. Proof, that Aziraphale means what he has done. Crowley realizes that his hand is still on Aziraphale’s cheek. He slowly moves his thumb over the smooth skin. He feels Aziraphale shiver, but he leans in again. Crowley closes his eyes, when the angel’s lips touch his again. This kiss lasts longer, the press of their lips is more insistent, and he hears Aziraphale moan. 

And that’s it. That’s Crowley’s undoing. He feels it the second it happens. He realizes the importance of this moment. They are kissing. They are kissing, and they both want it. And Crowley wants so much more, so much more, he can never express what he wants with words. So he tries without words. He scoots even closer. His arms close around Aziraphale’s body. With a sigh the angel practically melts into his embrace. His hands come up and grab Crowley’s red hair. The demon makes an incoherent noise between a moan and a growl. Their lips move together, and it’s in fact Aziraphale again who takes the lead and opens his mouth to caress Crowley’s lips with the tip of his tongue. Crowley feels heat rise inside him, feels his blood beginning to boil. He can do wonders with his agile snake tongue, and he takes advantage of this. Aziraphale feels it and moans now, too. 

There is no way either of them could tell where one of them begins or ends. They are so close, so desperate. The unrequited love of six millennia is now showing, and neither of them is able to resist any longer. Crowley’s tongue glides into Aziraphale’s mouth, explores, tastes, playful yet insistent. The kiss lasts for minutes, and at some point Crowley finds himself on his back, pressed against the ratty sofa cushions. Aziraphale’s hands are still in his hair, pulling in a delightful way, and suddenly his warm, soft lips are gone. Crowley gasps because of this sudden loss, but then the lips are back - on his jaw this time, follow his jawline and down to his throat where they linger for a moment and then Crowley feels the sucking and licking and his whole body arches up. 

"Aziraphale!" he nearly shouts, and that seems to break the spell. Aziraphale’s lips lift from Crowley’s skin, he looks alarmed and sits up.  
"Did I do something wrong?" he asks, concern and fear in his blue eyes. Crowley looks up at him, lips open, shiny and wet from the kissing.  
"What?", he slurs, looking dumbstruck. "What are you talking about?"  
"Well, I… I don’t know what you… what you might like in a partner."  
"What I… I’m here with you, aren’t I? I really have no objections to what you’ve done so far."  
Aziraphale sighs, is relieved for the moment. "Oh good. I wasn’t sure…"

Crowley can’t help it. He begins to smile, to chuckle, to laugh even. He’s still drunk after all.  
"Oh angel… Oh my angel…" He is glad, that Aziraphale joins him in laughing. They look at each other, overwhelmed, confused, but happy and disbelieving about what has just happened between them. And what may happen furthermore… 

Crowley comes up a little, half lying, half sitting on the sofa and opens his arms.  
"Come here," he smiles, his voice gentle and soft. Aziraphale doesn’t hesitate and snuggles against Crowley’s chest. Crowley starts to card his long delicate fingers through Aziraphale’s soft white blond curls.  
"Tell me I’m not dreaming…" he demands after a a few moments. Aziraphale, who has his breath back, smiles against Crowley’s chest. He has one hand splayed over Crowley’s heart to feel the steady rhythm under his palm. It feels like heaven. They don’t need their hearts beating, don’t need to breathe. But it feels good. And it feels good to feel the other’s breathing and heartbeat. It’s soothing. It feels so human! 

"If you’re dreaming, I am, too… No, we’re not dreaming."  
"Good. Because if I was, I would never want to wake up again."  
"Hm…" Aziraphale nearly purrs, because Crowley is now caressing the very fine and soft hair on Aziraphale’s neck. He is able to feel a little tension in Crowley’s body and has to ask: "Are you alright? You don’t regret it?"  
"What? Regret that you kissed me? Nah, never… I just…" He sighs, swallows.  
"It’s just that I hope you don’t change your mind about this."  
"I have waited for centuries for this. I’m not going to change my mind," Aziraphale says very determinedly.  
"You have?" Crowley feels a flutter in his belly. Oh, they really have both been stupid and afraid…  
"What have you been waiting for?"  
"Oh you know perfectly well, my dear! Our respective sides wouldn’t have approved…" He lifts his head now, looks at Crowley. He still wears his sunglasses, but looks at him over the rim of them. A little grins starts to curl his lips.  
"But we are on our own side now," he says. His head is swimming. So much possibilities for their future! The prospect of them finally being together… Oh this thought is so intoxicating! 

"We are. Aren’t we lucky, my love?" Aziraphale whispers. Crowley freezes. Has Aziraphale really just called him "my love"? REALLY!?  
Aziraphale realizes that his demon has to process his words for a moment and patiently waits with a smile. But he does one thing, while Crowley is still not responsive: He takes the sunglasses off Crowley’s nose. This seems to wake Crowley up. He blinks and watches, as Aziraphale puts the glasses on a bookshelf next to him. 

"You have the most wonderful eyes, my dearest. I hope to see them much more often now."  
"When ever you like, angel." Crowley looks softer than Aziraphale has ever seen him: open, even vulnerable, trusting. And he smiles a genuine, wonderful smile, that makes Aziraphale’s heart flutter with happiness.  
"That would be lovely."  
Aziraphale studies the golden depths of Crowley’s eyes before he kisses him again and these gorgeous eyes flutter closed. And through a minor miracle the record still plays the waltz…


End file.
